


Chartreuse and Cognac

by sercotella



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Childhood Friends, Coping, Dark Past, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, F/M, Good Karma Lone Wanderer (Fallout), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Illness, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage, Memories, Newborn Children, Original Character(s), POV Third Person, Parenthood, Platonic Relationships, Post-War, Sad Ending, Tension, Tragedy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sercotella/pseuds/sercotella
Summary: Most people know her as the Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland, but a select few remember her simply as Christina. It's been ten years since MacCready has last seen her, so he doesn't think he'll ever see his childhood friend (and hero) again, but lo and behold there she is, in the middle of the dusty Commonwealth with a strange bundle wrapped around her chest. He's at her side in an instant, and though she doesn't say who fathered her son, or even where she's headed, he's compelled to help the woman he's spent years looking up to.
Relationships: Female Lone Wanderer & Robert Joseph MacCready, Female Lone Wanderer/Arthur Maxson, Robert Joseph MacCready/Lucy (Fallout)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, Fallout fandom! Once again I have written an angst-heavy story so if you're going to join me for this one, buckle up. All five chapters have already been completed and I'm inclined to create a prequel to this story, focusing heavily on the Lone Wanderer's relationship with Elder Maxson. Chapters will become relatively longer as we keep going. Enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback if you wish!

MacCready is cautious and silent as he makes his way through the Commonwealth, territory that is still intriguing to him despite his prolonged residency in the area. The sun seems to shine brighter on this side of the country, most buildings remain structurally intact, and there’s certainly less super mutant activity than in D.C. Hoping to rid himself of his previous ties to the Gunners, his target is downtown Boston for a possible cure to Duncan’s ailment.

Travelling during the day comes with its fair share of raiders, mutated animals and travelling caravans, but at least the ground below his feet is visible and possible sniping locations are clearly in sight. At night, though the stars shine brightly overhead, MacCready finds himself on edge, treading carefully through high-rise buildings for a safe place to sleep. Tonight, he’s found what appears to be a derelict office building, and the 5th floor is mostly exposed to the outside, though a generous pile of debris proves to be a perfect cover.

His sniper rifle rests easily on the debris and MacCready rests against it, examining the area below through his trusty scope. There’s a modest settlement right ahead, and the townsfolk seem to be struggling with a power generator, wrenches, hammers and screwdrivers proving useless against stubborn pre-war tech. Surrounding the area are the remains of cars covered in rust and dirt through years of wear-and-tear, but not much else seems to be out of the ordinary. Or so it would seem to an average onlooker’s eye.

But MacCready was no average onlooker – his eyes are sharp and omit no detail in their searches. Tonight though, he wonders if perhaps he’s losing his sight or simply hasn’t got enough sleep the night before, because he swears he could see movement where there was none. It’s as if the wind itself was moving, which was nonsensical – he points the scope towards one of the cars and nothing happens. He sighs and rubs his face in exasperation, then returns to the scope again and now he’s sure he’s not just seeing things – there’s a slight ripple in the air, subtle movement that he’s able to follow.

He trails the suspicious movement with increasing curiosity until the mystery is solved, because what seems to have been a Stealth Boy wears off, and a slim figure emerges into his line of sight. She’s dressed in general wasteland garments of browns and greys, blending easily into the scenery, but what catches MacCready’s eye instantly is the navy sling that wraps around her shoulder, back and chest, and a circular weight nested closely in the cloth near her breast. The presence of an infant alerts him immediately and memories of his own son come flooding back in heavy waves of nostalgia and longing.

The woman has another Stealth Boy in hand, though she doesn’t activate it right away, instead taking a few moments to roll her shoulders back and sigh heavily into the night air, the baby sling clearly weighing her down. MacCready’s eyes narrow and he swears he’s seen her somewhere before, though she’s partly turned away from him and he can’t make her features out in the dark. He’s determined to figure out who she is, but before he gets a chance to examine her further, the nearby townsfolk finally get their generator running, and the few streetlights above their settlement spring to life with a lazy hue of orange. This, in turn, causes light to travel, and said light innocently reflects from MacCready’s scope onto the sight beneath him. 

He curses under his breath and immediately withdraws his gun, hoping not to have startled the woman below, though he knows she’s definitely seen the glint of his rifle. He lies against the debris, clutching his weapon to his chest, and takes a few uneven breaths before carefully placing the rifle to its original position. His curiosity gets the best of him and he glances down again, having fully expected the woman to disguise herself and flee from her potential attacker, but to his utter surprise she stands where she was, this time turned fully towards him, her hands wrapped protectively around the bump on her chest.

The first thing he notices are her eyes – in the darkness of the night they seem ablaze, big and round and determined under two furrowed, even brows. They’re strong and daring, challenging their possible perpetrator, and her lips draw into a thin line of anger. Though her face looks tired and sullen, MacCready recognises her features from their first encounter in Little Lamplight nigh ten years ago, and the unique Gauss rifle slung over her shoulder provides the final piece of the puzzle. He jolts from his sitting position before racing down five flights of stairs to meet her.

When MacCready bursts out through the door, she stands only a few feet away from him as if she was planning on kicking down the entrance herself. The barrel of her Gauss rifle points right into his chest, but her fiery rage is replaced by sheer disbelief when she sees him, evidently having recognised him too.

“Major MacCready?” She breathes out incredulously, and subsequently lowers her weapon. MacCready smiles at both the title and the woman before him.

“Hi, Chris.” The famed Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland gives him a wholehearted smile and comes forward to envelop him in an awkward hug, though MacCready is careful not to put any pressure on the baby in-between them, instead patting her shoulders gingerly, “I’m not a Major anymore though.”

“Yeah, you look a bit too old for Little Lamplight now.” She withdraws from him with a toothy grin and takes a solid few moments to examine him closely. He too stares at her for longer than appropriate – she’s visibly exhausted, slouching under the weight she’s carrying. Her body appears a bit more plump than that of her teenage counterpart and her chestnut hair spins in a messy braided crown over her head. There’s a familiar warmth radiating from her as she beams up at him, and he’s suddenly so grateful it’s him who found her.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and then can’t help but peer down at the bundle strapped across her chest in question. The baby is tiny and sound asleep, evidently only a few weeks old, wearing a knitted hat and matching mittens. MacCready wishes he had those when Duncan was little and accidentally scratching himself with his newfound fingernails. She sees this, and answers both the voiced and unvoiced question at once.

“I’m looking for this little one’s dad.” She says this with visible exasperation, “I hear he’s around these parts now.”

MacCready wants to ask who the father is but stops himself before he can blurt out something silly, and Christina dons another smile before the air can grow too heavy.

“The last time we met, you barely reached by ribcage and now look at you, towering over me. When did you sprout up like that?”


	2. Chapter 2

MacCready’s survival skills were way below average and he could soundly admit that he was rubbish at both scavenging and setting up camp. His marksmanship was excellent, of course, but that mattered little when a weakened woman and her infant child join him on the 5th floor of a decrepit office building and see nothing but cardboard pieces as a makeshift bedroll. Christina’s eyes dart from the floor over to him, eyebrow raised in amusement, and he rubs his neck sheepishly, wishing he’d at least have a spare meal to offer them.

Christina plans on sleeping a few blocks away but MacCready stops her, insisting that she stay under his roof. She warns him that little James is a screamer and wakes up regularly during the night, but all he think of is how similar that baby is to Duncan with its small, button nose and a crown of dark hair, and he’s compelled to protect them both, insisting on staying close. 

“It’s your funeral.” Christina simply shrugs and heads indoors, looking for a room with the least amount of dirt, grime and splattered organs. He follows suit with his puny excuse of a bedroll and settles himself in the corner closest to the door, being able to fire a clear shot onto any unwanted intruder from this spot. Christina’s rolled-up bedroll falls from her back onto the floor and she straightens it out with her foot as baby James begins to fuss loudly, despite his mother’s gentle shushes.

MacCready darts his gaze away with reddened cheeks as Christina takes the baby out from its sling and begins to breastfeed, and she only laughs at his reaction, dubbing this situation completely “natural”. Feeding James proves to be a frequent event during the night, roughly taking place every two hours or so, and it’s then that MacCready understands the previous noise warnings. He gets little sleep during the night but doesn’t regret looking out for the two newcomers because he knows that for tonight, security would be one less thing to worry about for the mother. The next morning, Christina rises from her bedroll looking slightly better-rested than before, and MacCready’s exhaustion is replaced with alleviation. 

MacCready helps with wrapping the baby sling around Christina’s shoulders before they set off again, and he asks her where exactly she’s headed before he can stop himself.

“Uh, actually, I’m not quite sure.” She breathes out as she gently lifts little James from her bedroll and into the sling. The baby settles near its mother’s chest and chews its fingers absent-mindedly, gazing up at MacCready with those watery dark-blue eyes that most Caucasian babies have before their irises change into a more-defined colour alike their own parents’ eyes. 

“What do you mean? You don’t know where the father is?” MacCready asks and wags a finger in front of little James, whose plump hand reaches out to grasp it. Christina sighs and struggles to put the mittens back on her little son’s soft hands.

“Something like that. I know he’s somewhere in downtown Boston, so once I get there I’ll just ask around.”

“And what makes you think the locals will have seen him?” MacCready’s gaze shifts to meet hers and she smiles bitterly.

“Oh, believe me, that man is very hard to miss.”

MacCready walks the mother and baby out through the front door, having packed his own things up as well. It occurs to him that they’ve probably headed in the same direction and so he insists on travelling by Christina’s side at least until they reach Lexington, leading her east through unseen elevated plains and high-rise buildings, out of sight and out of mind. He soon finds that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, because despite missing a number of shots, the raiders fall before her deadly Gauss rifle like bent tin cans in the wind. That should have come as no surprise.

They make frequent stops to accommodate the baby’s needs, but when little James calms again, Christina lets her curiosity get the better of her and asks about MacCready’s past – his departure from Little Lamplight, Big Town, and his own journey to the Commonwealth. MacCready answers her questions with enough detail to keep her entertained but without revealing too much, and he’s pleased to reconnect with someone from his past. It’s been years since he’s seen her first stumbling into Little Lamplight with that worn-out Vault 101 suit, and he reminds her of the “mungo” title she’s been subject to from him and the other kids. She laughs, though with some strange difficulty, because being only nineteen and basically a child herself back then, of course she took offense to the brats picking on her.

She’s made multiple trips to visit Little Lamplight after retrieving the G.E.C.K, most of the time with spare supplies, but other times to simply check up on the kids and exchange stories between them and the Big Towners. The more often she’d visit, the more Major MacCready would stare at her when no one was looking – he liked the way she treated everyone kindly, her smile distracting anyone from her grimy outfit and bloody gloves marked by a recent melee encounter. As a child he thought he simply had a crush on her, but over the years he’d realise it was pure, unbridled admiration he felt for her. She had impressed him with her endurance, strength and determination – he looked up to her, and wanted to grow up to be at least a fraction of the person she’s become.

He married Lucy because the love he had for her knew no bounds and he’d have done anything for her, that went without saying, but she also had that spark of stubborn resolve and tenacity that burnt like kindling within his childhood hero’s eyes, and that melted MacCready’s heart like butter in the sun. He’d have hoped he could see more of it now, travelling by Christina’s side, but something feels amiss as more time passes and their journey continues – she speaks less, smiles less, eats only enough to sustain her child, and doesn’t have the same spry walking pace she’d previously exhibit. MacCready knows better than to expect the same nineteen-year-old vault dweller from his past, but even with ten additional years she should still have more energy than this.

He decides to broach the subject that evening when they settle down in a damp but otherwise safe basement outside of Lexington. MacCready’s holding James in his arms, peering down and blowing air through his pursed lips to the baby’s exceeding amusement as Christina prepares a small fire to heat up some pork and beans. James’ chubby arms flail in the air as MacCready turns to the woman before him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, because he’s not sure how else to phrase his doubt. Christina looks up from the pot of pork and beans, exhaustion heavy on her features.

“Yeah, why?” MacCready isn’t sure if she’s just oblivious or actively trying to dismiss the subject, but even though he has the chance to back out now, he presses on nonetheless. 

“Uh, well, I noticed you’re struggling to walk a little bit… And you’re breathing funny.” He deadpans, and unable to look her in the eye, he focuses back on the baby in his arms. James babbles and splutters without a care in the world. A few uneasy moments pass in silence before Christina responds.

“I should’ve figured you’d notice.” She eventually flashes a sad smile, and MacCready isn’t sure if he wants her to continue, “I’m not my dad, so I can’t say for sure what’s wrong with me medically, but something is definitely wrong.” Her gaze shifts from him onto the bundle in his arms, “Since James, my chest hurts really badly. It’s hard to breathe, hard to get up in the morning without feeling dizzy. Sometimes my eyes blur over completely. My head hurts almost always.”

“It’s from the birth?” MacCready asks.

“I’d say. I carried James without any issue and suddenly all of this pops up, right when I have a newborn depending on me 24/7. I think it’s a bad case of elevated blood pressure after the labour.” MacCready watches as her mouth twists into a sour grimace, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this.”

“You’re not saying…”

“I am.” Christina takes a deep breath, “I think I’m slowly dying.”


	3. Chapter 3

MacCready refuses to believe what he’s just heard, and insists on bringing Christina to the nearest doctor for examination. He’s not surprised when she refuses, claiming that internal damage cannot be diagnosed without proper equipment, and besides, a simple wasteland surgeon would be inclined to simply start chopping her up to find the source of her symptoms, and she didn’t fancy dying from field-induced tetanus. He suggests a detour to Medford Memorial Hospital for some spare meds but that idea is also shut down, because apparently any and all antihypertensive pills would have been ransacked by now. He knows no possible way of getting two wastelanders and a baby into the Institute, so as a last-ditch effort, he insists on taking her to the Brotherhood of Steel, whose technology could surely help her. She stills completely at the suggestion.

“Well?” MacCready presses. Feeling useless during a time of crisis was probably one of his least-favourite experiences - being unable to help Lucy or retrieve her from that forsaken metro was one such memory. He pushes his bitter recollections aside for the time being, instead intent on preventing another disaster.

Christina hesitates, and instead of answering directly, she glances back down to James.

“Does he remind you of anyone?” She asks and takes a few steps towards him and the baby in his arms, running a gentle hand over the infant’s dark hair. MacCready isn’t sure what this has got to do with the pressing issue at hand, but he snaps his head down to examine James anyway. He sees nothing out of the ordinary - James’ hair is surprisingly thick for a baby, the ashy brown colour bringing out the flush, pink skin underneath, not yet tarnished by the harshness of the wastes. His nose is little but long on his face, and his eyes are downturned and hooded over brows that haven’t fully grown yet, looking up at MacCready with a vulnerability only a child could have. 

MacCready looks back to Christina, perplexed and questioning, and the woman before him sighs.

“I guess you haven’t met Arthur Maxson then.”

MacCready can’t believe what he’s stumbled into, and if he was looking at the situation as a mere on-looker, he’d have thought the drama of it all would be so entertaining. As an active participant however, he’s besides himself – Christina calmly explains the timeline, but it still seems unbelievable nonetheless. 

“In early January, Maxson was preparing to launch the Prydwen from Adam Air Force Base and rally as much of the Brotherhood against the Institute as possible. The message spread through all branches of the Brotherhood, it was almost impossible to miss by anyone who had even the slightest ties to them.” Christina says, “I haven’t been to the Citadel myself since Sarah Lyons’ funeral, but I wanted to see what Maxson made of this new, united Brotherhood.”

“And he knocked you up?”

Christina sends him a dirty look, “Very tactful.”

“Sorry, but he did though, didn’t he?” MacCready wasn’t sure why his mouth was babbling like this, probably offending his childhood hero beyond measure, but the mere shock of James’ conception boggled him to no end.

“Not right away. I arrived at the Citadel and the fresh meat didn’t recognise me, they just let me in after checking my holotag. That gave me days to rest up from the journey and explore the Prydwen privately, without a fuss – it was really something to behold. I was about to sneak into the cafeteria for some mirelurk cakes when Maxson spotted me across the hallway and just… froze.

He recognised me right away. On the other hand, I had no clue who he was. He was only a kid the last time I saw him, so the large skyscraper of a man that suddenly stood in front of me was someone completely new. He’s got this fuzzy beard now, and a bad scar on his cheek, and a thick trench coat that’d keep you warmer than any woman ever could.”

MacCready snorts. He’s never seen this Elder Maxson personally, but from the description given to him so far, he sounded like a pompous douche. Christina smiles, but more-so to herself as she continues.

“Before I know it he’s wrapping his arms around me and literally hoisting me into the air. My feet are dangling above the ground as he’s hugging the breath out of me and I’ve still got no clue who he is so I start screaming, and a bunch of rookie patrol knights rush into the cafeteria, only to be dismissed! And they say, “Elder” as an affirmative, and as he lets me down I take a good look at him and see it, his deep-set grey eyes and that sad smile.

He lets me use one of those fancy visitor quarters and each day, he takes some time out of his day to lead me through a new section of the Prydwen. He tells me about Lyons’ Pride and how most of that crew passed away with Sarah, the return of the outcasts, the Brotherhood’s plans for the Commonwealth. I think his ideas are ambitious and a bit too radical, so I stick to my guns and turn down his invitation to tag along.”

“Was that the first time someone told the precious Elder ‘no’?” MacCready can’t help but sneer and the Lone Wanderer only laughs at his sour attitude, agreeing that it very well could have been.

“Well, days passed and eventually in early March, we, uh, grew closer, I guess.” At this point of the recollection, Christina turns a bright shade of crimson and turns away, clearing her throat awkwardly, “And the rest is history.”

“Wait, what, that doesn’t explain anything!” MacCready protests, “Does Maxson know he knocked you up?”

“No.”

“So your plan is to just turn up at the Prydwen, and…?”

“Give Maxson his son. The boy will continue the Maxson lineage, so he’ll be well taken care of, and my job will be done.”

“That’s it?” MacCready leans back from the warmth of the fire, baffled. His mind fills the unspoken blanks of the story – there’s no room or time for diagnosing Christina’s ailment or curing it. The one and only mission is to deliver the boy straight to Elder Maxson’s arms, and once little James is safe, his mother can rest easy. That wasn’t good enough for MacCready, and he says so, but the woman before him is having none of it. It seems like a decision has already been made and he’d have little to no say in it, and suddenly his heart feels heavy with sorrow. His childhood hero’s health was deteriorating and though she’d be leaving behind a worthy legacy of purified water in the Capital Wasteland and a treasured son she lovingly named after her father, MacCready wished it didn’t have to end like this. She deserved a better way to go.

Again he asks her if there really is nothing to be done regarding her condition, but she only gives him a sad smile and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, as if to wordlessly tell him it was all going to be okay. After dinner she settles into her bedroll with James in her arms and falls asleep, and as the night drags mercilessly onward, MacCready twists and turns on the cardboard as the anger bubbles up within him. He’s not exactly sure who he’s angry with – partly with Christina, for giving up on herself so easily, partly with Maxson for letting her go through all of this alone, and partly with little James for sucking the life out of his mother, and for that thought alone MacCready feels particularly disgusted with himself.

Eventually he decides that he’s just angry with himself and his own helplessness, because it was obvious that history was due to repeat itself – a baby boy is lovingly brought into the wasteland by the strength of a mother that loves him unconditionally, and both the boy and his father are destined to lose the mother to death’s unwelcome embrace. The more he thinks about it, the more similarities he sees between his own Lucy and Christina, their genuine kindness, hearty laughter, snarky retorts, devotion to their children. In MacCready’s mind’s eye, even their eyes seem alike – Lucy’s bright eyes remind him of prized chartreuse liquor while Christina’s resemble warm cognac. Emerald and copper, colours slushing in his memories like gentle waves within a scratched shot glass against his lips, so close and comforting he can almost taste it.

‘Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it’, or so the saying went, and MacCready decides he won’t let Christina go down without a fight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you very much for your lovely feedback thus far, I'm glad there's someone out there enjoying my little creation! Here's chapter four, and tomorrow we'll get to the finale. Take care!

Sneaking out in the middle of the night to ransack the skeleton of Medford Memorial Hospital by himself might not be the smartest idea, but he risks it anyway. His step is light and silent as he descends back to the basement, hoping to find both mother and baby fast asleep, but he’s not that lucky. The Lone Wanderer’s Pip-Boy light is on and the woman herself is sitting cross-legged with James at her breast, her expression furious as she sees the sniper return. For the sake of the baby she resorts to whispering, though her words are sharp and angry as she demands to know why he left without a word.

MacCready does apologise, because he knows better than to anger an exhausted, feeding mother, and pulls out a packet of medication from his coat. She stares at the blue, oval tablets in his hand with genuine surprise, and asks what they are. MacCready reads the front label, ‘Microzide’, that was recommended in one of the pre-war doctor’s notes on high blood pressure in pregnant women. It took him ages to comb through all the discarded medical clipboards and their scientific jargon, but once he found what he was looking for, he managed to break into the medicinal cabinet with a few bobby pins and retrieve the one packet of what he hoped would save the woman before him. He offers to get one tablet open for her, not at all willing to mention the horde of feral ghouls occupying the hospital’s dark halls. 

“The doc’s notes said you shouldn’t take more than 50 milligrams per day if you’re breastfeeding but I’m not sure what happens if you go over that. It’s also best taken before bedtime, for some reason. Some pre-war studies showed no harm to the baby but that was during an actual pregnancy—”

“MacCready.” Christina stops him, lifting a weak hand with a smile, “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

He returns her smile with a shadow of uncertainty and hands her one capsule and a bottle of water. Once she gulps down the drug, she reaches out to squeeze his hand and whispers out another “thank you”, her speech slurred with exhaustion. Her eyelids flutter downwards for only a moment before James detaches himself from the nipple and begins to fuss, but MacCready reaches out to take the baby before its mother can react. She buttons her shirt back up and lets him lean James on his shoulder, gently patting the boy’s back for an expected burp. MacCready remembers doing the same for Duncan not so long ago, and his heart swells at the memory. He misses his son terribly, but remains determined to find a cure for him somewhere within the Commonwealth soon. 

MacCready sleeps for what seems to be a long time, because once the party leaves the basement the following morning, it’s not morning at all. The sun hangs right above them as head north, passing by the aforementioned hospital before turning east again. This would of course mean that they’d be walking right over downtown Boston, MacCready’s initial target, but that thought is disregarded for the time being – once Christina is safe and sound aboard the Prydwen, which should be soon, he’ll easily make his way back. He’s leading the group towards Boston Airport where he’s heard the Brotherhood was docked, and the easiest way to get there by foot would be along the 1A highway, and so that is his objective for now. 

MacCready’s soul feels lighter at the thought that he could have possibly prevented the Lone Wanderer’s premature demise – perhaps this truly was a trial from the universe, testing him to see if he is truly doomed to repeat the past. He decides he’s done well for now, at least giving Christina more time to reach her destination, and though her walk is still slow and her breathing shallow, he hopes it’ll only improve over time. He rarely leaves her side, perhaps only to overtake mother and baby by a few metres to scout out a new area. The party arrives at the Slog by evening time, and though MacCready wants to push on ahead at the sight of the Boston Airport over the horizon, Christina pleads for one more night’s rest. MacCready enters the pool site first, seeking shelter, and though the resident ghouls scowl at the haggard sniper, the sight of a baby softens their hearts and the female ghouls in particular insist on taking them in for the night. 

MacCready wanders the settlement before the sun sets, asking if he can help with anything as repayment for the ghouls’ kind nature, and before dinnertime he’s somehow managed to fix five leaking pipes, tagged along to eliminate a nearby raiders’ camp and broke open a pesky safe the ghouls dragged over from some nearby ruins. Upon return, he finds James to be the life of the party, being handed over from one cooing ghoul to another as Christina chats along with women who can no longer have children of their own, genuinely considering child-rearing advice from lifetimes ago. The ghouls share some of their tarberry harvests with them, and though James can’t have any now, Christina promises to bring the boy back in the future for a tasting. In gratitude, she also hands them a heavy sack of bottlecaps, a generous amount MacCready didn’t expect her to have.

After dinner, MacCready unpacks another tablet of Microzide for the Lone Wanderer and they settle down for the night outside within the rusted walls of the swimming pool’s welcome building. There’s quite a few ghouls in the room with them, though their beds are on the opposite corner of the room, and Christina resorts to whispering in the direction of MacCready’s cardboard bed.

“Are you sure this is okay?” She breathes out and MacCready shifts to face her.

“You heard them, they don’t mind the baby crying. They can catch up on sleep tomorrow, when we leave.” He reassures, and upon glancing down he sees James with eyes peacefully closed and little lips parted, reminding him again of his own Duncan back home. He can’t help the grin that overtakes his features at the sleeping baby before him, and Christina smiles gently.

“You have a baby too.” She states as if the fact was completely obvious and MacCready supposes it is now, with how well he’s been able to handle James’ crying episodes. He nods, and as he tells the Lone Wanderer about his own child, he feels as if an invisible weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. He feels light and happy when talking, no, bragging about his son, highlighting all of Duncan’s good attributes and milestones like a proud parent, and Christina’s features turn into a grin at the sight. She listens intently, praising Duncan’s apparent achievements, and it’s only when she asks if the boy is currently with his mother that the smiles die down and MacCready looks away, unsure of what to say.

Christina senses the change in mood as if it was a drop in temperature and apologises in case she broached a difficult subject, but the man before her tells her it’s alright. Faced with his own vulnerability, MacCready’s mind transports him back to Little Lamplight, where he stood at the makeshift platform of the caves’ entrance in his oversized soldier’s gear, faced with a tall, grimy mungo in a Vault suit asking for entry. As the mungo pleaded her case, her own youth apparent to the child major before her, he felt that he could trust her then and so he trusts her now, spilling his mind’s heaviest contents. He tells her about Lucy, how he lied about being a soldier to avoid losing her favour, her love for tinkering and scavenging, their hasty but fulfilling marriage, Duncan’s birth, then finally, his delayed reaction at the metro that cost his wife her life.

“Sometimes it chokes me, Chris, the guilt, as if all the air was sucked from my lungs and I can barely breathe.” He confesses into the darkness, hoping to God that the ghouls were asleep and couldn’t hear his vulnerable whispers, “There’s so many things I could have done differently, you know? I could have been honest with her from the start, she deserved the truth. I should have looked out for her more, protected her, that’s what a wife deserves from her husband. I didn’t do right by her, and it feels like that’s eating me from the inside out.”

Christina is quiet, letting him pour out his disorganised thoughts, and when he says nothing more she reaches out to squeeze his hand in silent support. Her palm is smaller than his, though it doesn’t quite fit into his grasp like Lucy’s did – he figures that Maxson’s hand is probably made to fit hers, and is waiting for her at the Prydwen, outstretched and strong and expectant. He deducts that even though he’s lost his other half, perhaps he can deliver the Elder’s love to the ship and assist with the reunion they'd deserve. 

“I didn’t know Lucy, so I can’t speak for her thoughts that night at the metro, or even before that…” Christina begins, and the warmth of her hand makes MacCready feel a bit better despite the burdensome weight of his guilt and what-ifs, “But I am a mother. And if we mothers want anything, it’s the safety and good health of our children. You brought Duncan out of that godforsaken hole and saved his life in the process. I’m so sorry that your Lucy didn’t make it out, MacCready, I really am, but I can imagine she rests a bit easier knowing that her son survived.”

MacCready sighs - the mention of Duncan’s health proves to be yet another regret, weighing down on him heavily as if he could have prevented it all. He feels weak as he details Duncan’s illness and his inability to find a cure, as if it was one more failure on his part, and his one final lead, the Med-Tek Research building. Christina recoils in disbelief when she finds out the facility was only a short trek away from their day’s path, and though she’s initially upset with his decision to ignore the lead while she’s in his company, she immediately offers to make the detour. He turns her down of course, because he’d be damned if he sent another woman to die at the hands of feral ghouls, and when he insists that his only objective for now is to get her to the airport, she simply purses her lips and says little before they both fall asleep.

The following morning, he once again wakes up quite late, and the smell of roast meat wafts through the settlement. He finds Christina by the fire with little James latched to her breast and a number of female ghouls rolling a large, pierced radstag over the flames. The ghouls seem to be in awe of the Lone Wanderer’s marksmanship and it’s then that MacCready sees the protruding burn of a microfusion shot at the beast’s chest. He finds it a bit strange, since Christina generally aimed for the head when hunting, but she simply shoots him a smug grin and insists that he help with preparing their hearty breakfast. As he watches the female ghouls retreat to set the table, he spots a hefty bag of bottlecaps resting near the faded glass pitchers, significantly heavier than yesterday’s payment. 

“Chris?” The woman’s gaze lands on the item in question. MacCready sends her a questioning look – surely she’s already given the ghouls enough money, and now arranged the biggest breakfast they could have had, was that not a bit too much? But she doesn’t answer, only stares off into the distance behind him with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s seen on her yet, and he too turns to see a group of ghouls returning from the southwest with duffel bags slung over their ragged shoulders. They unpack a lot of medical supplies and make quick work of distributing them between one another, but the one calling himself ‘Wiseman’ approaches MacCready with a strange, red canister of sorts. He sends Christina a wordless nod and she thanks him and his crew for venturing out.

“Eh, it’s not really a bother, the ferals are just fine with us so it was easy-in, easy-out. Thanks for giving us the heads-up about the joint, these supplies will keep us alive for a good while yet.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here we are, the final chapter. I warned y'all that there'd be angst... Though not to worry, if you liked Christina, you can expect a prequel or two directly involving her and Elder Maxson - that's a little something-something I'm currently devising. Take care out there and thank you for reading :)

MacCready stares at the medicinal canister before him for what seems to be an eternity. Christina calls out to him numerous times before his head snaps back up and he pulls both her and Wiseman into a clumsy side-hug, the Lone Wanderer’s light laughter echoing warmly around him. His initial objective was to deliver the drug to Daisy in Diamond City and from there it could travel to Duncan, but now he decides to hop onto said caravan himself and reunite with his son. Before him is a parent who possibly has so little precious time with their child and it puts his own departure from home into perspective – it was time to return to D.C and be the father Duncan deserved. Perhaps in time he could become the James to a new Lone Wanderer, and he voices his silly thought to Christina who sends him a genuine smile and tells him it’s very possible.

The ghouls wave them goodbye as they head east, passing by the Hub City Auto Wreckers junkyard before turning south, finally arriving at the 1A. From there it’d be a straight walk down to the airport, though a group of oversized super mutants block their path ahead. As they settle under a pile of elevated rubble for cover, MacCready holds the famed Gauss rifle in his hands and marvels at its smooth, metallic finish and clear, sharp scope. Christina insists he use it to make easy pickings of the enemy ahead, and she covers James’ ears when MacCready fires loud, blinding shots into the distance. The weapon is heavier than what he’s used to but he likes the speed and cleanliness of microfusion cells in comparison to the scarce, heavier .308 caliber. The woman beside him only smiles at his enjoyment and tells him to carry the rifle for now – she’s got her trusty plasma defender for any improbable close-range encounters. The rifle sits surprisingly comfortably at his shoulder.

The Boston Airport’s architecture looms so closely ahead but it seems that the more steps they take, the slower they seem to get, and MacCready grows anxious at the vulnerable position they find themselves in. He tells Christina they could easily get ambushed out in the open like this, and their sluggish pace would be a substantial disadvantage, but she says nothing, instead taking laboured breaths and struggling to stand upright. She clutches her head and visibly cowers as the knees underneath her buckle and alarm bells ring out in MacCready’s mind. 

He rushes to his companion’s side and wraps her shoulder around him, letting her lean on him as they trudge towards their destination, and his eyes dart between the asphalt before them to both mother and baby in panic. In her ear he whispers stubborn reassurances, telling her she’s going to be okay and that he’s here for her, that they’re so close, but only her ragged breathing answers. By the time he reaches the fortified, rusty gates of the airport, Christina’s feet practically drag along the dusted road, weak and lifeless, and MacCready roars at the Knights in boisterous power armour before him, demanding entry. 

The Knights tell him to get lost, because of course they do - they're currently not recruiting and they're not a charity either, they say as they examine the paling body he's trying to keep upright. MacCready’s eyes dart to and fro in a flurry of nerves and eventually land on the towering shadow of a man to the right, speaking to a female in an impressive casting of power armour as they examine some pre-war machinery of value. He recognises him – Elder Maxson – from Christina’s recollections immediately and calls out to him, as loudly as he can, even though he probably sounds pathetic and miserable. The Knights at the gate reprimand him, deeming him a desperate wastelander who has no business bothering their precious Elder, but Maxson’s head turns at the sound and his eyes widen when they land on Christina slung over the mercenary’s shoulder. 

He drops the heavy clipboard he was carrying and charges forward, swooping Christina’s weakened body into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, and demands MacCready’s explanation as they both dash towards a vertibird heading for the Prydwen. The sniper breathes out a shaky synopsis of their journey thus far – he mentions her journey from D.C, her symptoms, the medicine he’s found for her, and he’s only interrupted by a shrill cry from Christina’s chest.

Maxson’s eyes are narrow, dangerous and glacial as he takes in MacCready’s testimony, but they widen in genuine surprise as he uncovers the baby sling and sees the infant within. His gaze darts back to the wastelander before him in sheer shock, but MacCready only reaches out for James and places the boy onto his shoulder, shushing him in the familiar way Christina would. They let the nearby Knights strap them into their seats and the vertibird’s blades kickstart with a piercing whir, scaring the baby to no end, and James doesn’t stop crying even as they step onto the metallic platform of the Prydwen. Throughout their short airborne journey, Maxson’s large hands caress the braided crown atop Christina’s pale head. She doesn't move as she lies sideways across his lap, and Maxson's eyes nervously glance back to the little human on MacCready’s chest. 

Knight-Captain Cade clears all of his appointments for the Elder’s priority patient – they settle the woman on a heavy gurney in the middle of the clinic and hook her up to all kinds of medical machinery in a rush. MacCready’s told to stay in an adjacent hallway with James secure in his arms, overlooking the clinic through a thick glass window like an observer to some bizarre screenplay. He pats little James’ back as a gentle reassurance and his eyes focus only on one machine, a vital signs’ monitor that echoes one, steady sound throughout the area, a flatline. A familiar sting of grief and regret is almost overwhelming as he takes in the sight before him and James coos by his ear, blissfully unaware of the situation at hand.

Christina’s skin is grey and ghostly in the overhead lights of the Brotherhood’s clinic, and there’s no strain in her facial expression – her eyes are closed and she looks almost peaceful, freed from any suffering she could have endured during their journey. MacCready can’t hear what the Knight-Captain says, but he sees the medic’s head lowering in defeat, and Maxson seems to crumble before him. The Elder sits by Christina’s bedside, elbows resting on the gurney as he clutches the woman’s hand and his broad shoulders slouch and shake. One of his unsteady hands reaches out to caress her head as tears begin to fall on the mattress, and MacCready gets a good look at Christina’s stiff palm intertwined with Maxson’s other hand. Just as he’s suspected, they seem to fit perfectly, as if they were tailor-made for one another. It's comforting to see that the Elder evidently did love the Lone Wanderer.

MacCready feels numb when Maxson finally exits the clinic with reddened eyes and stained cheeks. He sees the hollow look in the other man’s eye and recognises it right away – behind the grief and loss lies the wish to stay at your bygone’s side for at least a while longer, the inability to say goodbye stubborn and agonising. He’s felt that way when his eyes landed on the torn corpse of his late wife against the tracks of the metro, where the universe granted him only a split second to register Lucy’s passing before he and Duncan had to run for their lives. Maybe it would have been better if they’d died there with her, he thinks time after time, and again today.

Maxson leads him to the nearby cafeteria, which seems to have emptied out during the commotion. MacCready shifts into the worn-out booth and it takes a long moment for the Elder to speak, though any sound reaching MacCready’s ears seems to be muffled as if he was swimming in a pool of his liquid sorrow. He stares blankly at the empty table before him, and his body reserves its last inkling of strength only to hold James against his chest. 

“She was always afraid of this, you know.” Arthur breathes out, “That she’d die like her mother did, from a birth complication.”

MacCready’s mind brings forward a foggy memory of a campfire at the Little Lamplight, where Christina heated up a generous bowl of instamash for the children. He sat beside her as they ate, and after most of the kids cleared out, she showed him the date on her Pip-Boy – it was July 13th, her 20th birthday, and the anniversary of her mother’s passing. He didn’t understand what a ‘cardiac arrest’ was then, but he does now, so he turns to the man before him with a bleak look and asks if that’s the cause of death. Maxson shakes his head and tries to explain Knight-Captain Cade’s diagnosis with a strained, uncertain tone, as if he couldn’t quite process it either – MacCready’s muffled ears eventually register the mention of a stroke.

“I don’t understand.” MacCready chokes out, and the miniscule weight of James against his shoulder suddenly feels very overwhelming against him, “I gave her the medicine, I made sure she took it… Did that only make matters worse?”

Maxson shakes his head solemnly, “Cade says she was on borrowed time since the birth. She was probably… past the point of no return for quite some time.”

There’s a knock on the door, and a woman calling herself ‘Scribe Haylen’ peers around the corner. MacCready tunes her out but her voice seems warm and soft, kind of like Christina’s once was, as she approaches with a wheeled bassinet. He puts up little resistance when her small hands reach for the baby on his chest. He knows he has no right to feel aggressively protective of James now, because he’s where his mother intended him to be – surrounded and protected by a battalion of well-trained soldiers that would die for him if he so asked. The Brotherhood would always see their prized Maxson descendant in that metal cot, but as MacCready’s tired eyes slowly loam over the new-born, his mind’s eye only sees that navy sling around Christina’s shoulders, the hat and mittens she’s made for him, and the way she would always kiss the baby’s temple goodnight before settling down for a well-earned night’s sleep.

MacCready can’t help himself – his hand reaches out before the Scribe can wheel the cot away, and his hand hovers over James for just a moment before that familiar, plump wrist shoots out to clutch onto his index finger. The baby’s gaze is soft and innocent as he peers deep into MacCready’s soul, and it’s only in that moment that he lets himself break down. He stifles the sobs from deep within his chest as to not scare the baby, and he shakily bends down to place a kiss over the child’s brow as a final homage to his mother. He haphazardly wipes at his cheeks as the boy is wheeled out into the direction of the clinic, no doubt for a much-needed check-up, and his mouth blabbers before he can stop it.

“His name is James, James like her father James, he was born in Rivet City on October 2nd… He needs feeding roughly every two hours… She made that hat and mittens for him because he flails his arms at night and scratches himself by accident… He loves it when you blow him raspberries, and… and…”

Maxson’s hand reaches out across the table between them and pats him on the shoulder twice in silent support as MacCready allows himself to finally give in and sob like a child. The Elder’s breathing is erratic and weary as he swallows his own tears away.

MacCready is given permission to stay aboard the Prydwen for as long as necessary, being granted one of the best visitor’s quarters and full access to most of the ship’s areas. Though he’s not offered a membership, which he would undoubtedly decline, most of the Brotherhood quickly recognise him and treat him with a respect that no other wastelander could even hope to receive. He stays only for Christina’s funeral, and then requests a vertibird to take him back to the airport, because with each passing hour he feels the bitter spark of an angry flame beginning to take hold of his insides and if left untreated, he’d be sure to combust. 

As he straps the safety belts across his chest in the vertibird and clutches the Gauss rifle on his lap, he’s practically blinded by rage. Another woman, no, mother, died right on his watch, and another child has been orphaned prematurely. What kind of God would allow this to happen? Did James not deserve a mother? Did Duncan not deserve Lucy’s unwavering love, support and protection? Why on Earth was this happening again? 

The blades of the vertibird slow down with an audible hum when they finally arrive at Boston Airport, and for a split second MacCready shuts everything and everyone out. His eyes close, he stills in his seat, and for just a second he sees them – Lucy and Christina, Christina and Lucy, two women that were loved and adored beyond measure, though pallid and breathless in reality, now exist only in his mind’s eye, and it’s only here that they’re still able to beckon him over with the glow of their mesmerising eyes, and so he runs to them like an alcoholic to his liquid courage.

Waves of chartreuse, waves of cognac, crashing against sealed eyelids. 

Pools of chartreuse, pools of cognac, forever stilling at the bottom of MacCready’s tightly-clutched shot glass.


End file.
